When Are You Coming Home
by toadstoolcouch
Summary: Teen!Pickles doesn't come home when he says and Seth is worried. Incest, slash.


Disclaimer: All characters and related stuff belongs to the creators of Metalocalypse and everyone else at the top. The characters and the basic plot that I'm deriving this fanfic from is not mine. And I make no kind of monetary profit from this. Just a silly fanfic, no harm intended.

When Are You Coming Home?

It was months ago since Seth last picked up his journal, but not because he thought it was gay for a guy to write in a journal, no, he'd been through that with himself already. It's just that lately he didn't feel like there was much to write about, or that he really didn't want to write it.

It was just a composition book, heavily worn, duct tape on the spine, stickers of motorcycles and a CRX on the covers. It wasn't even half way finished, and he had it for a year.

With a cigarette between his lips, and a heavy frown on his face, he sat down to write.

***

Pickles went out with his faggy little friends three days ago. I haven't heard from him since. He told me before he left that he was gonna spend the night with Marcus. He didn't say anything about staying any longer, and I didn't think to ask, because, well, he always tells me where he's going and when. Ok, sometimes he goes out while I'm at work or he might forget and just go on out without telling me, but lately he's been pretty good about letting me know shit like that.

He's never been away this long. Three days, two nights hes been gone. I'm really fucking scared. I have no idea what the fuck is going on. I don't know what to do. Jesus, if I could only know where he is, or if he's still alive, that would be good enough for me right now. I already went to Marcus' house and his parents said that he had gone to visit some other douche bag friend all the way in Lake View. They didn't see if Pickles was with him. I think I know who this other guy is, but how the fuck could I find him? If that's even where they are.

When I found out he skipped town, I nearly flipped out right there. Ya, it really fucking pisses me off that he didn't tell me he'd be going that far. I think that's kinda fucking important. I vowed to beat his ass that night for lying to me. Ok, he didn't say he wasn't leaving town, but it counts as lying cuz he didn't tell me he was.

Only I didn't see him that night, or the night after. It's seven o'clock right now. Is this gonna be the third night he's been missing?

I've already searched his room several times for any clues about this other kid. A phone number, an address, fucking anything. Jesus, his room is a mess. I found his drugs, his cash box, some of my shit even. The fucker has one of my shirts and some cassettes I thought I lost. I will totally pound him for stealing my shit. But anyway, there was nothing else. He had some notebooks with half assed home work shit and some music and notes about gigs or some other shit. I found Marcus' number, but no others. His room is totally trashed now. Not that he'll notice the difference, the goddamn slob.

I still feel like I could search more, like maybe I should rip up the carpets or pull the plaster off the walls to find his hiding spot. Then again, he doesn't know I know about this other kid, fucking Steve or Stephan or whatever, so why would he go to such great lengths hiding it? Marcus' parents are no help, and of course mine would be useless.

They don't know he's gone yet. Mom asked me yesterday, and I told her he was gonna be staying with Marcus for a few days. She wasn't happy but she bought it.

And Dad. Jesus. Thank God he isn't sniffing around yet. I guarantee he'll blame me and then the shit will really hit the fucking fan. God I hate him so much. Everything's always my fault. I try so goddamn hard to be good enough for him. Why do you think I got that shit Ace Hardware job? I'd quit in a fucking second, I'd rather work at McDonald's I hate it there so bad, but no, Dad went to all that trouble to get me that job, he'd "be damned if I go fuck it up for him." He socked me in the face when I told him I hated my boss. He was the one who fucking asked! He doesn't want to the truth, he shouldn't fucking ask me anything.

Jesus Christ I hate him so much. I wish he'd fucking die. No one would miss him.

Shit, I don't think I could control myself if he comes down on me about Pickles. I know he'll blame me and say I should've told him the second night he's been gone, that I should have gotten all the kids' phone numbers before he left, blah blah. O ya, and he'd accuse me of lying to Mom, and he'll make out like that was the worst thing I did. But he's gonna say that I lost his son and that's where I will fucking snap. That piece of shit, he doesn't deserve to call Pickles his son. Dillon means nothing to them both. He's just the invisible kid, the fuck up, the family queer. We all know it. Pickles being lost affects only me. Those fucking pricks. He's not their son. Shit, I'm more of a parent to him. At least I love him as much as a normal parent should. Do you know how many times I've thought about running away and taking him with me? But Dad would call the cops on me for kidnapping, and I already have a record. He'd make sure I was fucked, and then what would happen to Pickles?

Did he run away? If he was gonna leave forever with his friends, why would he leave all his money here? He was saving up for his own guitar. I highly doubt he'd just abandon his money, and all his stuff. All his faggy makeup and hair shit. And if he were to come back for it, well then I'd hear him. I don't think he'd just stay out there and replenish his supplies on the road, would he?

Fuck, he's only 15! What does he know about anything right now? All he ever does is play his stupid gigs and smoke weed. He couldn't last out there! Someone has to be taking care of him right now.

But dammit, if he is at someone's house, waking up all the neighbors with his shitty music and drinking all over the place why no calls? He knows the number to Ace, so he doesn't even have to talk to Mom and Dad. He can just call me, or leave a message, Jesus Christ! Or have Marcus call his folks, anything. How can he do this to me?

I thought for a while that maybe he was trying to punish me or some shit. I'm not perfect, ok? My life is fucking stressful, I got Dad on my ass at all times, I got my boss treating me like shit, he knows that! I know I'm doing some fucked up things to him, and I know that I hurt him sometimes, and there have been times when I've made him cry, but shit it's not that big of a deal! I mean, he's gay, right? I now he gets something out of it as well. I know that. I've been with enough people to be able to read his body. Not even Amber looks at me that way he does sometimes. And he does come and spend time with me sometimes. He hangs out with me and tells me shit. Private shit. You know what, fuck Marcus. I'm a way better friend than that douche. Marcus is just a weed buddy. He's just the fucking singer in their 2-bit garage wannabe band. I'll bet anything he doesn't talk to him like he talks to me, and that Marcus has never put anyone in the hospital for harassing my brother. Fuck him. if anyone should be going out on the road with him, by God it should be me.

He's not running away. He can be a real doofus sometimes but he's not that stupid. I know I taught him better than that. But he could be trying to lash out at me. Shit, he is a teenager. In that rebellious phase. Mom and Dad might have given up on him and he doesn't go to school so I'm the only authority figure he's got. I wonder if it makes him feel like a man, like he's proving something by defying me. He better enjoy what little triumph that gives him because I'm gonna fuck him up when he gets home.

Seth stopped there, feeling a lump in his throat. He fumbled for the Lucky Strikes in his breast pocket and lit up so hastily he almost dropped his lighter. He had so many thoughts racing through his head, and every few minutes his stomach would drop as the specter of the worst crept up from the back of his mind. His left hand clutching the desk, he forced what he could on paper.

All I want is to know if he's ok. Jesus, God in fucking Heaven, please let me know. I keep thinking something happened to him, and shit, anything could have! I really don't think he's doing this on purpose. He doesn't have the balls to challenge me like that. I love that shit head more than he will ever fucking know, but I will do what needs to be done, and he knows that. So if he's not ignoring me, then why no calls? He should have been home 2 nights ago, for fuck's sake!

I keep reassuring myself that if something happened, we'd know by now. If he's in the hospital or dead, Mom and Dad would have been called. We'd have cops on our doorstep, right? I know it's ridiculous to actually think he might be dead. He can take care of himself, he's no weakling, and he's got all those fags around to help him. It seems idiotic to put it in words, but I can't stop thinking about it! I mean, I don't know where he is, how do I know he wasn't run over or murdered? Shit, that's why we haven't been called down to the morgue, cuz whoever killed him hid the body!

Please, God, please, if you really exist, please just let me know if he's alright! It hurts to spend any time away from him, but I will gladly wait for him, as long as it takes, as long as I know that he will be coming home. It's an intoxicating way of torturing myself to imagine my baby brother walking through that door, and me taking him tight in my arms, my face in his hair, my hands against his skin. Jesus, right now I feel like I'm a fucking junkie in withdrawals. I can't think about him too clearly or I'll go insane. It's terrible enough to face this loneliness, but for fuck's sake I'd give anything for the peace of mind knowing what happened to him. I would jump for joy if Mom came in and told me he had been arrested, because that would mean that's he's safe and his next stop is home. I promise I would be extra nice to him, because he'll already have Mom and Dad marjorly up his ass.

Fuck, I feel like I'm on crack. My heat is slamming, but I have like no energy. I'm looking up desperately at every sound, and I've barely eaten since he left. I'm not even hungry at all, and I can't remember what I ate in three days.

I don't want to go to sleep tonight. This morning I had so many fucked up dreams, even though I slept so lightly and kept waking up. One dream was where I was doing laundry at some strange house, and Pickles walks through the door. The happiness and relief that flooded through me as I rushed to take him in my arms was so strong, so overpowering. When I woke up, those feelings lingered and for a few minutes I believed it was real. But then, of course, I realized it was a dream and then tried to escape with more sleep, only to have another dream just like it. I don't want to see him in my dreams anymore.

O God I want him here so bad. Please, God, please bring me back my brother.

By now he was sobbing. His eyes had been stinging, and he felt the tears roll down his cheeks, but he was only concerned about trying to write as much as he could, furiously getting his thoughts down and therefore, hopefully, out of his head. He was wiping the tears that fell on the paper angrily, growling at the mess and hating himself for breaking down like this. He went through a phase of anger, where he tossed his journal across the room and beat his fist against the wall, but then went crawling back for his composition book of secrets. Sitting on his bed, he hunched over the pages, his elbows resting on them while his hands held his head. "I'm sorry, Dillon," he whispered. "Please come back, please, God, bring him back to me."

***

On the fourth day, Seth considered calling in sick, but realized that he would need the distraction. Perhaps by surrounding himself with the usual gang of idiots, his hatred for his job would make him forget about his brother. Maybe. He brought his journal with him, but he really didn't have much else to say. He wrote "come home Pickles" a few times, but didn't have a chance to write anything more profound. His brother had once walked all the way to his job just to see him, so all day Seth kept his eyes open, wishing death on every person that approached him that was not his brother.

He had a cold feeling inside that Pickles would not be there when he got home, even though it was late when he got off. As he drove up the driveway, he saw darkness from his brother's window. For a few minutes he just sat in the car. There was nothing in that house for him.

But it was cold, and he was very hungry. He hadn't eaten all day. His parents were still up. Their voices could be heard before Seth even opened the door, but they quieted when he entered. They regarded each other for a minute, as if both parties had something to hide and were doing a poor job doing so. As Seth tried to escape to his room, his father called him back. Slowly he walked into the kitchen, under the harsh bright light, under the dark gazes of his parents.

"What are you not telling us, son?" his father asked. His eyes were hard, stony but his voice would seem to anyone else as inviting and approachable.

"What are you talking about?" Seth didn't look at him. He looked at the counter, and kept his hands in his pockets.

"Now don't give me that malarkey. Your brother's been, what did you tell your mother? spending the night with Marcus for a mighty long time now."

"Ya, so?" Seth shot a vicious glance up at his father, who shot it down with a cold look of his own.

"Where is he, boy?" His voice matched his expression now, and even Seth's mother was startled.

For a moment Seth stared at the floor, but finally he forced himself to meet his father's eyes. Gazing hard, he said through gritted teeth, "I don't know. Why the fuck are you asking me?"

His mother gasped, "Language, young man!"

Father and son were still staring each other down, as if she weren't there. "Where's my son?"

Seth felt his eyes burn. His fists were shaking. "Call the fucking cops. I don't know where he is. He said he'd only be gone one night."

"Ah, so what you told your mother the other day wasn't true, now was it?"

His lips curling, Seth felt himself tremble with rage. He saw his father's throat as a target. "I didn't want to worry her for nothing."

"Nothing? My son's been missing for four days, and you say that's nothing?"

"Goddamn you! I'm your fucking son too!" Seth screamed, spit flying from his mouth. He took a step towards his father, and his mother put her hands to her chest, wide eyed. But his dad held his ground, and his stare. "And what's this sudden concern anyway? You don't care about him!"

"You watch your mouth, boy. We all know that boy's headed down a path of self-destruction, by God he doesn't need you helping him get there."

"Fuck you! You're the one fucking him up! I hope he ran away, just so he can get the fuck away from you!"

As soon as those fierce words left his mouth, his father was on him. His mother just stood back with her hand to her mouth while her husband shoved their son against the wall, his fingers tight in his hair, and backhanded him across the mouth. Seth threw a hand out to try to catch him, but failed. With fresh blood trickling from his lip, Seth fumbled onto his knees, and he let out a soft moan from the pain in his jaw.

Stooping over him, his father snarled, "I'm not going to let you tear this family apart, Seth. You tell me where Pickles is."

With a significantly less hostile tone of voice, Seth answered, "I'm telling you I don't know! He told me he was going to stay with Marcus one night, that's all he said."

Lifting him by the hair, his father said, "Come on, what else?"

Seth flinched and tried to smash himself as far into the wall as he could. His father was standing over him closely, gripping his shoulder. Seth could see his father's other hand balled into a fist by his side. He furiously wiped his eyes quickly, hoping his father wouldn't see and answered, "He and Marcus are staying with another friend."

"Where, Seth?"

"Jesus, I don't know his fucking friends, I don't know where!"

His father's fingers tightened on his flesh. "I know you do. You're not helping anyone by lying to us, boy."

He hated him extra right then, but not because of his violence, but because he was forcing him to tell on his brother. No matter what Seth would do to Pickles, one thing he never did was tattle. In his opinion, their parents were the common enemy.

This whole time his father had managed to keep cool, but he was losing it now. Seth's silence and belligerent gaze drove him to a fury he could barely control. "Damn you, tell me where he is!" he yelled, shaking his son by the shoulders. As he raised his fist, his wife threw her hands on his arm, begging him to calm down, but he shook her off.

Seth yelled, "Lake View! He's in Lake View!" While his parents looked at him in shock, he hid his face with his arms.

"What the Hell is he doing out there?" his father asked. He put his fist down, but he was still holding Seth by the shoulder.

"I don't know, that's what Marcus' parents said. He's got some other friend out there, please, I don't know anymore than that!"

For a few moments his dad held him, and then shoved him off. "Go to bed," he said, and they watched their son slink out of the kitchen.

***

He took the time to rip his work clothes off and throw on some pajama pants and then retreated into Pickles' room. It was a sty, and he managed to step on at least one item with every step towards the bed, but he felt at ease there. It was a bittersweet feeling: the posters on the walls, the tubes of lipstick scattered on the floor, the reek of bud in the air and from the closet, they were all as much a part of his brother as any of his hair or legs or hands. Or lips.

And it was that presence all around him that taunted him. When he reached his arms out, there was nothing to hold. It was painful to be in here, to be overcome with the anxiety, but he felt it would be even worse in his room. In his lonely, empty room.

Climbing into his brother's bed, he prayed again. He didn't put his hands together or try to kneel, he just closed his eyes and whispered the same request with the same vehemence as he had for days. "Please bring my brother back to me."

He felt stupid for praying, since it was something his parents had taught him, but there was nothing else he could do. He had no way of getting a hold of the kid who knew the kid who might possibly be with Pickles. He couldn't go driving around looking for him, that would be pointless, and his father would never allow it. He couldn't even stop his parents from getting involved.

The fantasy of holding his brother slammed through his mind in a cruel way, and he pressed his head into the pillow, biting his lip. Memories of what his father made him do came next. He was thankful for the aching fatigue in his body, so that at least he could escape for a few hours and hopefully not dream too much about Pickles.

There was a sound from down the hall. Like his door closing. He shot up in the bed but didn't get out of it, afraid of who might be poking around in his room. His breath held still as the door opened. He knew who it was even before he fully entered, but Seth waited for a moment, as if it weren't real, like what he saw would disappear if he moved too fast.

"Hey," Pickles said quietly as he neared the bed.

Instantly Seth felt like an idiot, but a ridiculously happy one. He laughed at himself for all his fears, and pulled his brother on the bed. Pickles tumbled beneath Seth and he leaned his head back, sighing softly from Seth's hot breath tickling his neck. Seth picked him up, sitting him on his lap so they were facing each other and held him tightly for a long time. In the silence of the room, Pickles was able to hear his brother suck in his breath a few times.

"Dood, are you ok?" he asked.

Sniffing, Seth said, "You fucking disappeared, douche bag. I sure wasn't ok just a few minutes ago."

"But didn't Marcus tell you where we were?"

"His mom did."

Pickles paused, leaning into Seth's arms. "But, I told Marcus to call you. I gave him your work number."

He felt Seth tense. "Jesus Christ," he finally said. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"He didn't call you, not even once?"

Seth pushed Pickles apart to look at his face. He allowed himself the indulgence of doing what he'd literally dreamed of for the past few days: kiss his brow. "Why the fuck didn't YOU call me?"

Curling the corner of his lip, Pickles shrugged. "I was scared you'd be mad."

"Don't you think I'd be more mad if I don't know where you are or when you're coming home?"

"I thought he'd call you, I'm sahrry," Pickles said softly. He looked down and stroking his brother's arm, hoping this wouldn't turn into a fight.

"O, what the fuck ever," Seth sighed, pushing his face into his brother's hair. It was down, almost straight, hanging limp and oily at the sides of his face. "Jesus, you stink!" he laughed, and he pulled him down to lie on his side. He gathered the blankets on the bed and wrapped his arm around Pickles' waist. They lay in silence for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of their bodies so close, and then Seth said, "You know how much trouble you're in, right?"

Pickles stiffened. "Whatever. What are they gonna do, ground me? Ooooh!"

"Nice try, I meant with me."

"O," Pickles said quietly, his heart already speeding up. He could feel his brother's fingers tighten over his chest, but other than that Seth was relaxed. "I'm sahrry..."

"You can beg for mercy tomorrow. Right now, we sleep, ok?"

Pickles sighed, "Ok." He was still tense, but gradually felt himself melt into Seth's arms. A part of him was very excited to be held like this. He could feel his brother's body beneath those thin pants, and his bare chest strong against his back. His time away from the family was valuable; it was always good to get away from his parents, and it was a strange luxury to not have to predict and tip toe around his brother's mood swings, and to be guaranteed a full night's sleep. And being around people that he knew would never physically hurt him reminded him of just how different his life was from everyone he knew. He would never tell any of his friends anything about it, but he was pretty sure that none of them had to worry about constant molestation from their own family members.

But there was that part of him that whispered from deep inside his mind that it was ok to enjoy it, even for just that night. He had missed Seth when he was gone, yes, and this invasive, suggesting voice was telling him that it was ok for his heart to pound, and not just from anxiety. It encouraged his erection and suggested he press his ass against his brother's body. He bit his lip and held still when Seth groaned and moved slightly. His brother had fallen asleep, and was quickly going right back to it.

Pickles knew that all he'd have to do was gently press against his brother again, just ask him in a small voice for what he wanted, and he would get it. He would get much, much more than what he bargained for, but he wasn't afraid this time. If Seth were to wake up in the middle the of night and rape him, he would enjoy it, and be grateful that he was not the one to make it happen. He could so easily just ask for it, but he knew that Seth would only rub it in his face and make him feel so cheap about it. He had that talent. Yes, it would be better to hide behind his own lack of control.

He told that lustful part of him to be quiet. He would get far more than his share of abuse soon enough. But right now, it's time for sleep.


End file.
